Pocket Watches
by Lorel77
Summary: Little reflections and drabbles on different illustrations and scenes. Rather Alek-centric.
1. Dead Romantic

**Just to make it easier, the pocket watch I'm describing is the one shown in Leviathan, the one Franz Ferdinand left on the tennis court. The picture inside is Sophie obviously, as shown in Keith's beautiful picture. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the image of the image of the pocket watch, or the different described pictures. Those go to Scott Westerfeld and Keith Thompson.**

_Pocket Watches_

The clunky faceted face is accentuated by the delicate numbers and slender hands, reaching up to gently kiss the pretty ivory. The gold leaf covering is burnished to perfection, which is faded with heavy use.

But the magic is on the inside.

The slight woman gazes up at the world from her faded finery of black and white. Her lengthy hair is swept up in an elegant bun. She's sitting regally, a queen in her own right, with nothing but a drop of royal blood in her. A graceful smirk almost twitches across her face. Her eyebrows almost quirk upward. She is, in every way, beautiful.

Rough fingers. Engine grease. They ease the stiff metal claws holding the photograph in place aside, making way for the new art.

This girl's jaunty and confident. Her hair is chopped obscenely short. This girl has not even a squick of royal blood. Common as dirt, she is. A sarcastic smirk definitely flashes across her face. Her eyebrows definitely quirk upward in amused appraisal. She is, in every way, beautiful.

Her photograph overlaps the other. Then it covers. But not replacing, never replacing. Merely a tradition unfolding.

More hands push at the claws over the years. More hands rub the burnished gold leaf. More pictures cover the old ones. Lover after lover. Life moves on.

It's dead romantic.


	2. Man's Not Meant to Fly

**Thank you so much for the reviews! I got several asking for more, so I made this. I wasn't sure if you wanted more of my drabble things, or if you just wanted more pocket watches. If you were asking for the latter, I promise to make it a multi-chapter thing. But for now, I want to get this one off my chest. It's reflecting on the Greek myth of Daedalus and Icarus, which is my personal favorite. I also used a scene from Goliath, but not a spoilery one. Alek and Deryn are out on top of the Leviathan at sixty miles an hour, and Alek is learning what it is to fly. I rewrote most of it, but lots of the dialogue is the same. I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I in no way own Alek or Deryn, or the Leviathan for that matter. And Daedalus and Icarus are Greek myths. Not mine.  
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_Icarus_

_Daedalus was a genius. His ideas were ground-breaking, his inventions revolutionary. And he was currently a prisoner._

Franz Ferdinand loved peace. His ideas were popular with the general public, and he was best known for his greatest mistake, the selfish act of love. And he was currently a prisoner of that decision.

_Minos was the warden. A king of Crete, he was determined to keep his rule. And having the famous inventor working for him helped a lot._

The emperor hated that his nephew was spitting on the family name by marrying a commoner. The best he could do to stop the dreaded event was to enforce a left-handed marriage, and pretending that the child didn't exist.

_Daedalus had a son, Icarus. The boy shared his prison, and assisted his father in making new items for the king. The only reason Minos allowed him to stay alive was that the child offered a wonderfully convenient way of controlling the rebellious man._

Franz loved his son of course. Little Aleksander was a fairly happy child, and didn't once fail to greet his father when the man came home from 'business' trips. But he also represented what the consequences of his decision were.

_Daedalus hated that his son had to grow up trapped in a stone workroom. Countless sketches later, a rough idea formed…_

Little Aleksander grew up. He really did have a natural talent with walkers, his father mused. There could have been a future there, but with his current political standings, there was almost no point in pursuing it. But Franz couldn't bring himself to take away the only thing that made his son want to fly.

"_Remember son," the old man told the boy as he pulled the leather straps tight. "Don't fly too high, lest the sun melt the wax."_

"_I know father."_

"_Don't fly too low, or the spray from the waves will get the feathers wet and heavy."_

"_I know father."_

_Daedalus sighed. "Alright. Here we go."_

Franz Ferdinand died before he could see his son get off the ground, leaving the boy to find his own way in a world that was set against him. There was no time to be the boy that he was.

_Flying was a miracle. Icarus laughed in sheer joy. This was beautiful, having the sky at his wings, and the sun shedding warmth on his back. What was left to do but fly? To dip and curve? To be a bird?_

"Isn't that why you became and airman? To see the world?"

"Me, I just wanted to fly."

"I'm beginning to see the appeal," Alek smiled. Partially standing up, he leaned into the wind, letting it hold him upright like a mother with a newly walking toddler. He spread his arms out and splayed his fingers, catching the wind like a mighty bird of the air. The boy laughed in sheer joy, finally being the child he was inside.

"Sit down you dafty!"

Alek just laughed again, every worry fleeing his mind. What was left to do but fly? To dip and curve? To be a bird?

Franz was lucky; he didn't have to see his son fall.

_Daedalus hated his being. He hated his mind. Because of him, his son was dead. From that hate, his head quickly became unraveled. For now he knew, men weren't meant to fly._

But of course, that doesn't mean that they would ever stop trying.


	3. Country Pride

**Thanks for the reviews! They're awesome! (And more are appreciated, wink wink!) Now this is another Goliath scene, not spoilery in the slightest. Well, if I explain the pretenses too much it might get to the major spoilers spot...pah, we're fine! Deryn is in the gondola, watching as the_ Leviathan _bombs an enemy war machine in the water. One makes it out to land, but two vessels are never seen again. See, nothing out of the ordinary there! Really, it's just Deryn reflecting on guilt. I think the exact quote from the book was, "It felt almost inhuman, just to stand safely and watch." There you go, inspiration. The other part is the P.O.V of two men in the drowned walker.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of the scene, or the captain, Barlow, or Deryn. And all I did with the men in the walker is just apply thoughts to them. Not really OCs, are they?**

_inhumanity_

Bombs exploding. Towers of water gushing up with an irate display of righteous anger at the ones who disturbed its tranquility. It's so easy to forget that there was anyone under the surface…

_On the spine, it was balanced out. She was scared, they were scared. It was fair like that. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, wasn't that the saying? But now she was safely tucked away in the fancy gondola, watching men die for their country…without her. How was this decent?_

Water gushing in…Help! Anybody! Sparks flying off of the open mechanics…Malfunction! Danger! Salty tangs breach the skin…Panic! Help! Get to a high place, somewhere safe…Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…and if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take…even though I walk though the valley of the shadow of death…

And the soldier comes home to his Father.

_ A human is empathy. Guilt. She looks over at the captain, congratulating on a fair hit. Barlow, estimating the rate of champagne bubbles. Any machine can mimic our appearance, but they are not human. So easy to forget that there was anyone under the surface. So easy to pretend that this is but a display. A pretty water show._

The last marine breaks the surface of the water, his friend's cruel grave. A place of death, now of hallowed ground. His strong strokes propel him to the firm soil. All he wants to do is get out of this cesspool of death, this last bitter failure of his country. As he struggles to sit up on the ruined grass, the though that goes through his mind is not revenge. He's had enough of that to last a lifetime. What he wants is a priest to bless his comrades into God's hand. They deserve it.

The marine is dead by the time they find him.

_The girl was tired of this particular entertainment. If only she could go back to her cabin, but of course she couldn't. A soldier had more stomach than that. A mere shove and her emotions were out of sight. Perhaps she had too much practice at this maneuver. A bit more skill and it would seem as if she had no emotions at all, like the ones she shared her company with. It was hard to decide whether this was good or not._

No one found the body until the fright was over. Everyone saw the vessel on land, but there was no clue that a second wreck lay stagnant beneath the water. The priest never came. But I imagine that the men made it to wherever they were headed just fine.

_What was war but an overgrown child's grudge? A slight misunderstanding blown out of proportions? In any case, it was a haven for psychopaths with machine guns._

_ Let's hear it for country pride, shall we? _


	4. Real Life

**So this is a sequel of the previous chapter, _Inhumanity_****. This time an Alek version. You know at the very beginning of Leviathan, when we first meet Alek? He's playing with toy soldiers and war figurines. This is based off of that. I made more of those real people given thoughts thing, so I don't know if I own them or not. I didn't even give them proper names. Anyway, as I said, this is based off of _Inhumanity_, but with a few changes. ****If anyone has read Peter and the Starcatchers, the beginning paragraph references a scene where Black Stache is planning on taking a ship, and ends up pushing it off the edge of the table.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, characters or the Alek parts. I guess I kind of own the slanted parts. I guess.**_  
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A knife flicks a ceramic ship off a map. A hand slides a home-made cavalry towards their death. A single forlorn flag hovers uncertainly between point A and point B. Little toys; nothing more of course.

A prince does not get his hands dirty. If there was engine grease under the crisp nails, a brisk scrubbing soon fixed the abomination. As his liar of a mother put it, an oily machine was no place for high society. Even if he liked it.

Father let him pilot. He understood. But even Father forbade politics and strategy. It was unfair! As a prince, wasn't he entitled to learn about government? Alas, the closest he could get were home-made cavalries under the cover of darkness.

He pushed the walkers toward enemy lines.

_"Sir, what are your orders?"_

_ "Pawns, officer."_

_ The man coughed discretely. "Pawns, sir?"_

_ "That is what the Higher General wants us to be. And pawns must sometimes be sacrificed for the greater good, isn't that right officer?" the superior said. The bitterness was plain to the world._

_ "Sir, what are your orders."_

_ "We have no chance against the Siberian forces. Head forward. Open fire. If I am a pawn, I want to be remembered as a knight."_

_ "Yes sir."_

Most of the time, he didn't feel like a prince. His family scoffed at him. The servants treated him like an equal. His fencing master acted as though he were the son of a lady in waiting. Which of course he was.

He shoved the front lines of the opposing Darwinists forward.

_The superior smiled. In the moment of death, he was free! As his doom cantered in, nothing was on his head! He told his wife he loved her, he watched his first son come into life, and he died for his country. He was at peace._

_ And as the godless creatures thundered towards the walkers, a young man let out a wild whoop of triumph._

The boy looked at his desk surface. The line of walkers had been completely destroyed, but that opened up an opportunity for a Herculanean surge of force from the other Clanker powers. They were just pawns.

It wasn't as though this was real life, right?


	5. Oliver!

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Leviathan universe. That credit goes to the genius of Scott Westerfeld.**

**Sorry for the wait; I've been way busy with NaNoWriMo (a novel contest), and have had little to no inspiration. Until now, at least. I've recently acquired my own copy of Behemoth, and have access to loads of illustrations and scenes that I had forgotten about. So expect some Behemoth themes from now on! Like this one here. I got this from that picture of the Ottoman library that Deryn wen to, looking for Alek's mother's name. I just thought that it would be the best library ever, which led to this thought. As for the Oliver Twist stuff, I'm in a community theater production of Oliver!, and the songs have begun to weed themselves into my everyday life. It's rather annoying. Several lines, including the title, come from the song, _Food, Glorious Food_. The girl that I use is loosely based on _moi_. Enjoy!  
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_six, feet, high!_

Piles. Piles upon piles upon piles of books. Shelve after shelves of knowledge galore. The smell of old paper and coffee drifting through the aisles.

The girl sat discontentedly in a plush armchair near the center of the library, unwieldy and droning textbook in hand. _The__ Brief __History__ of __the__ Relationship __Between __the__ Clanker __and__ Darwinist __Powers:__ From __the__ Galapagos __Islands __and__ Natural__ Selection__ to __the __Great __War __and__ the__ American,__ Ottoman,__ and__ Japanese__ Hybrid__ Cultures_. Contrary (or maybe hinted at by) the title, the book was more than seven hundred pages. _Brief__ history,__ my__ foot,_ she thought.

The extensive fiction section called to her. The world of reality didn't suit her, she mused. She felt by far more comfortable in dreams.

_I__'__m __rather__ like__ Oliver__ Twist__ and__ the__ rest,_ her mind supplied. _Dwelling__ on __proper__ food__ while __their__ plates__ are__ being __splattered__ with __gruel._Charles Dickinson was her newest idol. _Why__ must __we __be __fated__ to,__ do__ nothing __but__ brood__ on,__ Food,__ Glorious__ Food?_, she hummed. Except, in her situation, it wasn't food she was craving, it was fantasy.

The girl was supposed to be studying for her unit on The Great War. About Germany and Serbia and the like. She had only really gotten as far as the assassination of Franz Ferdinand before she gave up. The plot line of the war wasn't half bad, more like a story. That's why she liked history a bit better than the rest of her subjects. But this duller than dirt textbook was excruciating.

She spent the remainder of the library's hours just sitting there, watching the automatons shelve the six foot piles of books, the textbook unopened in her lap.

"Excuse me miss," a young librarian said. "We will be closing in five minutes. Do you need help finding something?"

The girl smiled politely and said, "No, I'll be fine." With that, she wandered out of the library, humming 'Food, Glorious Food' under her breath and casually wondering if Franz Ferdinand had any children, and if he did, what happened to them.

**Now, I will not update until I get one more review. All are welcome, and new thoughts and ideas are greatly appreciated.**


	6. Magicians, prt one

**Thanks guys. No reviews.  
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**Disclaimer: I don't own Alek, or the Leviathan universe. Just my random, nameless characters that seem to crop up everywhere. This time it's post-Goliath, so spoilers for that. What Alek's getting up to, and just because he's my favorite character, he gets lots of strife. Good ol' strife. Just to say, I've just finished _The Invention of Hugo Cabret_, so now this is a clockwork themed one. **_  
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_of automatons and magic_

It had been some years since he walked out of the Zoological Society of London. Beasties were not for him. It had been rather fun, but when facing the facts, the only reason he stayed was Deryn.

And then she was gone.

She had walked before he did, just up and gone. Probably got over her crush on that prince she had known. Gotten tired of being with just Alek.

She didn't even say good-bye.

Alek left soon afterwards for America, the city of New York. A new home. There were too many ghosts with the Darwinists, so to immerse himself in a different culture helped. Now he was a mechanic, a timekeeper, and a toy maker.

The last item on his list of occupations happened entirely on accident.

_Alek__ sat__ idly __at__ his __counter.__ No__ one __was __coming __in;__ apparently __it__ was__ a __bad__ day__ for__ mechanic__ business.__ Casually__ he__ fiddled__ with __a __few __spare __parts __left __over__ from__ his__ last__ job._

_ As__ the __parts__ seemed __to __fit__ themselves __together, __his__ odd __little__ creation__ began __to __take __on__ the __shape__ of __a__ cat.__ On __impulse__ he__ added__ a __few__ small__ scraps__ around __the__ face__ to __resemble __a__ mane._ Ha_,__ he__ thought._ Now it's a lion_.__ Smiling __bemusedly __at__ his__ new __pet,__ Alek __set i__t__ almost __proudly __on__ the__ counter __and __thought __nothing__ of__ it._

_ The next day a man came in with his daughter. While the two men were discussing prices, the little girl cast her gaze around the small shop. Her eyes alighted with a spark of curious delight on the mechanical lion._

_ "Daddy! Look! There's a little cat on the counter!"_

_ The adult glanced at lion quickly, not caring too much. Then his mind registered truly what he saw._

_ A small gasp escaped his lips. "How extraordinary! How much for the toy?"_

_ Alek was taken aback. "It wasn't really for sale," he said._

_ The other man looked crestfallen. "That's too bad. It would've been for my wife, you see. She's been quite ill, and recently began watching those newsreels. The ones about the jungle are her favorites. She would've loved that little lion."_

_ Alek was really shocked. Someone actually wanted what he made. "Well, it's really no use to me, I guess for you it's for sale."_

_ The father looked much brighter at that. "How much, sir?"_

_ Alek didn't really know what toys like this usually cost; it never mattered before now. "Will 10 cents work?"_

_ The father grinned. "Yes, I can do that."_

_ And that was that._

Since then, Alek had made a good side business of making little toy animals and windups. The fact that the animals were made of Clanker parts was fun too. It reminded him of the Leviathan with engines attached. And it was fun to indulge in being a child again, playing with figurines. Now he was as much of a toy maker as he was a mechanic.

You got all sorts coming in when you own a shop, especially in New York City. Carpenters. Timekeepers. Automobile crafters. Even Baurer Hoffman and Klopp came in now and again. It seemed that they like this new 'commoner' version of Alek.

The oddest sort was the magicians. They frequented the shop quite a lot. All top hats and capes and card tricks. They liked to perform some of their illusions for Alek, finding him amused by their spectacles.

Alek did like having them come in; they were nice folks, most of them. A few unsavory characters, but normal customers were rude sometimes too.

The most curious magician had yet to come.

**Author's Note: This is gonna be a multi-chappie thing. I'm too excited about it to fit it all in one chapter.**


	7. Writing Prompt no 1&2

**I am officially a horrible person. That wait was unacceptable.  
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**Well, I was suffering a lack of inspiration plus a discovery of new books. Distraction. So I turned to a set of writing prompts that I got off of another author's collection. They're numbered one to a hundred, and are just words or phrases that work with anything. I'll say up here in the note if that day's addition is inspired by a prompt. (The word or phrase that I use will be the title of the piece.) I'll do two per update.  
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**Disclaimer: The characters and universe of _Leviathan_ belong to Scott Westerfeld. **

XXII. Mother Nature

_It just wasn't natural_, Alek shivered. To make things that by all rights should not exist…mutants, mammoths, monsters. It was like playing God.

They were bloated, distorted, vile, bulbous, malicious, Devil's-spawn, godless, often- no, always- rather frightening.

He had heard the stories. There were rumors, of the Darwinist labs, with its wickedly sharp and deadly instruments of 'science' glinting and dripping with the gore and slime and even blood of their experiments. In the night-time tellings of the popular horror stories, the mad scientists would grin cruelly as they dissected various corpses, animalistic and human alike. The mutations made were mad; in several variations of the common rumors, the creature would have an unquenchable thirst for flesh or blood, and, being deprived of its food, the beast would proceed to either massacre its creators or gnaw on its own flesh until it was killed.

Or of the human experiments. A man would be brought in, unaware of the impending horror. In some versions he was a volunteer, helping out with a carpenter to bring in more equipment. The scientists would ask him to lie on the lab table that he had just brought in, to see if it was the right length. The man would do so without complaint or question. The scientists would ask him if they could strap him down, to see if they were strong enough. The man would comply. He pulled at the straps with all of his strength, but they wouldn't budge. The scientists would grin and say, 'Very good'. That was when the scientists would pretend to notice sweat on the man's brow, and offer him a drink before trying one last time to break his bonds. The man would gladly accept, and when he had downed the concoction, the man would start giggling like a school girl, utterly happy and numb. The scientists would proceed to pick up their scalpels and knives and cut him open, him laughing all the way, and discover the effect of a disease the man didn't know he had.

But of course those were just children's horror stories. Not true. Of course Darwinists weren't like that (at least, thought Alek, not most of them). As ghastly as their fabrications were, they couldn't be all corrupt. Alek had thought he was being open-minded.

Then he met Dylan.

He seemed so at easy with the 'beasties'. When he was around the midshipman, Alek couldn't help but almost see the fabs as real animals. Dylan was gentle with them, talked to them like pets, treating the mutants like Alek only ever did with his cat. And when he saw the furry beasties, that cat was what he thought of, almost subconsciously. When he saw the odd birds and crested eagles he thought of those mundane sparrows that he opted to watch instead of listening to his Latin tutor.

When he was with Dylan, things just seemed to fall away; status, culture, education. Everything that he knew how to do was useless here, everything that he stumbled with was what was important. Even if he was in hiding, and wasn't strictly supposed to feel like a prince, it was disconcerting. Dylan did everything so effortlessly. And with Darwinist beasts being ungodly…well, how many godless people could there really be in the world? Certainly not enough to fill so many countries. Maybe they weren't all wrong.

_Well_, Alek huffed to himself, _those things are still downright unnatural_.

XXXVI. Precious Treasure

Deryn was absorbed in her sketching. She was concentrating hard on capturing the curvatures of the spine and the sheer animalistic nature of the Leviathan in general. The trickiest parts, however, were the places where the flesh met metal. It was a weird balance.

Up on the spine was the best place to draw. The emptiness of the air was unassuming and calming. It was where she went with her time off. She was so caught up in her evolving picture, though, that she didn't even notice a body plop down beside her. She didn't notice for several seconds, so those seconds were consequently rather awkward for the said body sitting next to her. So that body watched the sky for a bit.

"I see…a dragon."

Startled, Deryn turned around to stare at Alek. "What?"

Ignoring her baffled look, he continued with, "And that's a castle."

She followed his gaze to the clouds. _What a _dummkopf_, cloud watching_. "Oh. Well, I see…um…a Huxley."

"That big one there is the _Leviathan_, look, there's the gondola and everything!"

"Silly, that's a tigeresque. There's a skull over there."

"Aren't we morbid? And there's a…horse."

"That big one back there is a mountain range."

"And that one next to it is…"

When Dr. Barlow came stomping up to the spine to see exactly where her midshipman and prince went off to that was so much more important than egg duty, she found them sprawled against each other beneath the darkening sky, fast asleep.


	8. Writing Prompt no 3&4

**Here are some more of those prompts. They're way good, so if anyone wants the whole list, PM me! Of course I have excuses for why I haven't updated any of my stuff in such a criminally long time, but I know you guys don't wanna here 'em. So without any further ado..**

**Disclaimer: All rights go to Scott Westerfeld.  
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LXXVIII. Drink

The clothes he was wearing were really uncomfortable. The collar too tight, _everything _too tight, to formal, awkward. How had he ever endured this?

Even the furnishings were a tad too posh to be pleasant. It reminded him of being home, with the servants running around, not really doing what he told them to do, and of the officials, ignoring him altogether. Not good memories. But if he was honest with himself, it wasn't the memories that made him twitchy with unease. It was just that he was so _unused_ to it. Five, ten, years away from it all, selling parts in America, had made him different. He no longer belonged here, in the world of social events and high fashion. He wasn't that boy anymore.

He wished he had never been 'rediscovered'. A nosy reporter, not even the familiar Malone, an amateur, had visited his shop and inquired about his name. And past. And family. And love life. Job. Interests. But most of all past. Apparently he still resembled those old pictures and newsreels. (That meant his ears hadn't gotten any smaller, damnit.) But here he was again, fresh out of his new life and sipping tea politely with a couple he didn't even know. Apparently they fancied themselves one of the nicest couples in New York. The teacups reminded him of those silly china cups that Volger brought with him onto the Leviathan, too ornate to be wholly practical. Alek almost laughed. He was drinking tea with the elite once again, and all he wanted to do was swig whiskey with Deryn.

XXXV. Hold My Hand

Ka-boom went the thunder. It made Alek's floor an earthquake, like Ms. Amsel told about today at lessons. He clutched his covers tight to his chin and curled up as tight as he could go. But the lightning and thunder kept spiking into his head, making him stay awake. If only…

If only there was someone here with him. That was it! He would go and make sure Mami and Papa weren't too scared of the thunder, and then they could be brave together! With a smile he scrambled out of bed and bounced into the hallway. But the huge space made the booms and flashes even worse, and made Alek feel so much smaller than he did in his room, shrinking him down so he was nothing more than a mouse on the floor. All the happy and excited melted out of him and into the carpet.

But the thought of his parents, all scared in their big room, without him there to be brave for them, spurred Alek onward.

Mami and Papa's room was upstairs, so through the winding halls and past the secret places and up the creaky stairs. It was a dangerous journey, of course. And at its end, Mami and Papa!

Alek was about to open the door when the voices stopped him. Not Mami's normal softness, or Papa's formal. These were shouts that were leaking out from under the door.

"-you should have seen this-all of this- coming! As if you didn't know the repercussions…"

"I thought they were worth it! I didn't think that you would care!"

"I don't. Really, I could care less what a bunch of puffed up aristocrats think. But it's obvious you do."

"And what makes you think that, my dear?" Papa's voice is poison.

"The way you treat your son."

Alek's ear pressed tighter to the keyhole. His mind was full of nothing, just the words.

"Wh-what?"

"If you didn't care, why do you treat Alek like someone else's boy? Why do you leave all his upbringing to everyone else? He is the product of your short-sightedness, that's why."

The bed springs creaked.

"I-I just don't know how- how to-"

Another creak.

"You need to realize-"

But Alek didn't hear the rest, because his feet were running. His sniffs and gasps were loud in his head, echoing around the emptiness. He still couldn't muster the will to think anything at all. His face was itchy with tears.

Down the creaky stairs, past the secret places, through the winding halls. But instead of stopping at his room, Alek kept plowing on, a couple of arches down to Mister Volger's quarters. Mister Volger was his fencing teacher, but wasn't very exciting, as all Alek had learned up to this point was grips and how to stand. But he was the first person to come to mind.

This time Alek didn't wait to listen. In case there were more shouts. But all there was when he opened the door was Volger, awake and walking around.

"What is it, Aleksander?" he sounded angry. That just made it worse. A weird noise came out of Alek's throat, maybe a cough? But Mister Volger's face changed then, and he came over and bent down and gently grasped Alek's hand. "Come along now, Aleksander. Time for bed."

Alek never went to his parents for comfort again.

**Now for the after comments:**

**I've noticed almost all of my pieces are Alek-centric. Hm.  
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**I don't know if I like how 'Drink' turned out. **

**And I guess you could call 'Hold My Hand' a companion to my earlier 'Icarus'. **

**Anyway, reviews and suggestions are very much appreciated, and be be responded to!**


	9. Writing Prompt no 5&6

**Happy Valentine's Day. I know it's been forever since you've seen a new chapter for this, and I'm sorry. but I'm getting back into the swing of things (my sister just started Leviathan too, so that was some motivation). So here are some prompts, but next week, I will have an original one for you. And the week after that. And after that. I have a plan.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Leviathan, at all.**

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><p>LXXXI. Pen and Paper<p>

The old steps creaked rebelliously as Deryn tore up the stairs to her room. Tears blurred the lines of reality; short sobs scratched her throat. As she ran she ripped off bits of clothing; a cardigan here, a petticoat there. By the time she arrived panting at her door, the girl was in barely more than her undergarments. Her cheeks were stiff with tears, so she swiped them off with the heel of her hand.

Deryn stood at the threshold to her room in her barest undergarments, just staring at the space she called her private own. It alone had escaped the brunt of her Aunt's influence; the walls were conspicuously bare of pink or frills, little flowers or hearts, her dirty clothes lay strewn haphazardly around her room like a- _a boy's_, her bed spread lay in tangles at the foot of the mattress, and then there was Deryn herself, who fought tooth and claw at every suggestion that her room could use 'a tad of tidying up'. _I could very well pass for a boy, if anyone only looked at the state of my room. _In fact, in a roundabout way, that was the subject of the fresh quarrel downstairs.

_I never, in all my years, have come across a girl as downright _savage_ as you, miss Deryn Sharpe! What would you mother think if she saw you now? Shock! And horror is all a real lady like her would see when looking at a silly, stubborn _wrench _like you! _

Earlier that week Deryn had caught them, her aunts, discussing her in the kitchen. While listening through the door, she heard; 'Why, that girl gives me such a headache. Wild as a cornered alley cat.'

The other concurred. 'There was a point when I stopped pitying her. Sure, she lost her father, but we all suffered. Her reaction…' the woman shook her head, 'Well, all I've got now is impatience.'

'I don't even know if it's about her father anymore. Well, I just know that I'll be glad when she's married and out of our hair.'

The first laughed. 'What wishful thinking you have! No man in his right mind would want that child as his! I pity the man who is stuck with her.'

Well, Deryn was through with them. Thoroughly.

She didn't pay any mind to the fresh tears on her cheeks, or the nagging thought in the back of her mind that implored, _These women are the only family you have left besides Jaspert. _

So she sat down with an angry thump at her desk.

She whipped a blank sheet of paper over and gripped a pencil tightly in her palm, and she began to scribble. Her crazed and dark lines flashed over the paper. They covered it, scribbles and scribbles and crazed lines of anger and-

The paper tore. Deryn yanked a new sheet over and viscously murdered it in the same way. And the next. And the next.

But as each sheet died, it took the little of her anger that it had absorbed. So, bit by bit, her frenzied scribbling faded into methodical scratching. The lines began to morph into various shapes, gesterals of her favorite beasties and so forth. Even a couple faces peered out at her.

Deryn glanced at her pencil. Worn to the nub. She sighed as she tossed it in the pile with the load of similarly weary pencil stubs. Her supply was running dangerously low nowadays.

* * *

><p>II. Love<p>

"But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun."

"Had you been there tonight you might also have known how the world may be changed in just one burst of light."

"…for love is as strong as death…it burns like blazing fire/ like a mighty flame."

* * *

><p>"…But when the Princess opened up the pocket watch, it wasn't a picture of any of her ugly and mean daughters! It was her servant girl!" The little boy in her lap gave a gasp of delight, and squirmed deeper into her. "And the Princess was so jealous at how beautiful the servant girl looked, and so angry that the Prince didn't like one of her daughters, that she sent the servant girl away!"<p>

"Oh boo!" The little boy scrunched up his face. The story was even more fun if he added expressions. "But that didn't matter, nothing mattered as long as the two lovers could be together. They loved each other so much, that the Prince ignored his evil Uncle King and married his true love, and they had a handsome child that filled their days with even more joy and laughter!" She squeezed the boy and he giggled and twisted around in her grip.

"They lived happily ever after!"

* * *

><p>In love with the blasted ship, really?! What an idiot! And to top it off; 'Women are mental!' How dare he?! Oh, I could just…<p>

His eyesight was swirling; he couldn't focus on any one thing. Dylan hovered over him, that much he could make out. Then suddenly, the world jumped into definition, as though an illuminating light lit everything fully, leaving no shadows. "You're a girl, aren't you?" Odd how he never noticed it before…it is so blatantly obvious! Of course Dylan is Deryn; how could he ever have mistaken this to be a boy?

* * *

><p>"You must be exhausted."<p>

"Oh, but just look at her, Alek! She's…"

"Beautiful."

"She's perfect." A quick kiss, the woman needs to stretch upwards to reach her husband.

"She is indeed. Oh Deryn…"

"What? Not too worried are you?"

"Of course not, a baby's nothing we adventurers can't handle, hm?"

The child lay peacefully in the woman's arms, swaddled up in blankets, radiant as the new day's sun.

* * *

><p>The man sat on the bench with his daughter. They both held newpapers, the man's with the blaring headlines proclaiming doom and depression, while the child's was festooned with simply drawings and cartoons. The sight of the two of them, wearing identical expressions of concentration, was enough to give passers-by a smile. The little girl's feet didn't even touch the pavement; she couldn't have been more than seven. And when the sun's last potent rays slid back behind the towering skyscrapers, the man with the reddish-brown hair hoisted his little girl up onto his shoulders, her reddish-brown pigtails bouncing with his steps.<p>

* * *

><p>"Mum, can't we go get me a new dress?"<p>

"Why on earth do you need another one? You already have two."

"I've had those forever!"

"So? They look well enough."

"Well enough isn't good enough."

"It was good enough until today."

"Well, now it isn't! Why can't we just go get a new one?!"

"You know times are hard…"

"And as you know, we are now fine."

"So you want to waste good money on a silly new dress?"

"It's not wasting! I need it!"

"Just tell me why."

"Ugh!"

…

"It's a boy, isn't it, Jovie?"

…

"Maybe."

…_not some village lassie twirling her skirts at a dance…_

"Well, Jovie, you know you don't need to…"

"Mum, don't you get it? Have you never felt like this before?"

…

"We can go out after I finish this painting."

The golden paint of the sun lay soaking into the canvas as they left.

* * *

><p>"You can't do <em>everything<em> by yourself now, Deryn. We are getting a bit old." Smile lines wrinkle up the rugged face.

Not so for his partner. She huffed, "I'm still fully alive, any these kids can do, I can do too."

* * *

><p>These new hospitals don't feel right. Nothing like the ones from his memories of the Great War. Those memories often seemed more real, these days. If only his barking heart would toughen up, he was tired of being here. Every since the first attack…<p>

* * *

><p>Deryn was the last to leave the headstone. The weak sun peaked timidly through the thin cloud cover.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Alek Hohenberg 1899-1972<em>

_Father, husband, pilot_

_Deryn Sharpe-Hohenberg 1898-1973_

_Mother, wife, airman_

The sun is high at its zenith.

* * *

><p><strong>The quotes in Love are from Romeo and Juliet, Les Miserables, and Song of Solomon (Bible), respectively. If you notice, they all describe love as light, whether it be the sun, or fire. Likewise, several of my Love vignettes have similar themes or mentions of light. <strong>


	10. Mozart

**Now here's one directly from my imagination. After rereading Leviathan, I just loved the references to Alek being a 'Mozart at the controls'. Of a walker, that is. **

**Disclaimer: I in no way shape or form own any bit of the Leviathan universe, all rights go to Mister Scott Westerfeld.**

_Mozart_

"Keep you're hands up! Can you not read music, Young Master? That's not the right note. Where's you posture gone? Don't slow down! You need to feel the tempo!" The wizened old man violently rapped the time on Alek's piano's music stand, nearly causing the sheet music to flutter down. "One-e-and-a two-e-and-a three…"

Alek bent his head and continued his clumsy attempts at music. His fingers scrambled across the keys, committing glaring mistakes in their haste. Each blip hung over his vision like a cloud of red; a mound of frustration swelled in his stomach. Alek pushed the keys harder, anger fueling his desperation. His song tramped along like an inexperienced pilot in a broken walker.

"Stop," Herr Kurtler snapped. "Just stop." Alek immediately removed his hands from the piano with a grimace still painted on his face. "This is how the piece is supposed to be played."

His tutor snapped his fingers and Alek leapt off of the bench, yielding the seat to the teacher. Herr Kurtler plopped himself down with pompous finality, and gave his tiny round glasses a perk up and his fingers a stretch before almost tenderly laying them on the ivory. Then his music started.

The piano seemed to possess the man, he swayed and moved and pounded with the rhythm of the piece. The sound seemed to emanate from him, not the instrument. He made the notes move across the page, and couldn't have made the piece sound more different than Alek's rendition. The man created a world behind the music.

When the last note lay reverberating in the air, Herr Kurtler turned to Alek and said, "That'll be enough for today. We will _still _be working on the piece next week. Practice." With his nose upturned he left.

Alek stood at attention alone in the music room. His least favorite lesson. Besides Arithmetic, of course. He had never excelled at the instrumental world, never fully 'lived the music' as his vocal coach said, or 'let it take him away' as his violin instructor told him. And he never 'felt the tempo', like Herr Kurtler. All those phrases, they just seemed so abstract and unreachable. All sheet music was to him was a collection of notes on a page. All he did was play them. There was no living or taking or feeling to do.

But it certainly sounded good. Alek stood still, letting his eyes flit from the keys to the door, to the floor. Then he sat down at the piano bench and poised his hands. He wanted to sound like that. So he started slow. One by one, each chord drifted into the air. They sat there somberly and heavily, but not unpleasantly so. Just, pondering. A bit thoughtful, to the casual passerby. All Alek concentrated on was the music, the notes.

No one saw hide or hair of the boy for a long while that afternoon. They never thought much of it, and didn't ever ask him about it. If they had, it would have surprised them to know that he had been in the music room all afternoon. For everyone knew, while he was quite the Mozart with walkers, the boy was god-awful at playing music.

**I have often felt this way about the playing of music. I love it, but so many times the true passion of playing seems out of my reach, thanks to the teacher's use of high and vague language like, 'feel the music', 'let it flow through you', 'live in it', 'create your own world'. Now, this kind of teaching is wonderful-with the right kind of student. But for practical people, like Alek, this isn't instruction. It doesn't translate. So, this piece was easy for me to write, I felt that what I and what Alek would probably have felt overlapped well. **

**Well, sorry for the long and rambling author's note. Until next time!**


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